


His father's eyes

by Adara_Rose



Series: Harry Potter head canon [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Child Loss, M/M, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 21:10:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10544380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adara_Rose/pseuds/Adara_Rose
Summary: Blaise Zabini does not have any children.But his body remembers carrying a son.





	

**Author's Note:**

> On one side of the table: Hermione Granger-Weasley with a video camera.  
> On the other side of the table: Blaise Zabini.

"It's amazing what the mind remembers from traumatic events" he says thoughtfully, lighting a cigarette. There is an overflowing ashtray and a nearly empty box of cigarettes on the table in front of him. His fingers shake a little, like an addict itching for a fix.

"Like... It probably hurt at some point, I mean we're talking ten hours here. But I don't remember it. It wasn't relevant. The only pain I remember is after, how my chest felt like it was going to explode if I moved to fast."

He takes a deep drag on the cigarette, blowing out a rather impressive smoke ring.

"Lactate infection. One of the first things I made sure to learn in med school. What it means, how to treat it. Turns out, you can't really. First you have to extract, then drink a potion that dries you out. back in those days, they treated it by having two orderlies hold you down while a third poured this disgusting muck down your throat to make your milk dry up. I remember I fought like a crazy bitch. Not that it helped."

he stares at his lit cigarette like it holds the answers to the universe somewhere in all the tobacco. 

"I remember that. But not the labour itself."

He nods thoughtfully, as if knowing something profound and having decided to share it.

"I wanted to name him Florian. After the man my mum said fathered me. I'm pretty sure she was lying, but I liked the name. It's a good name. I wonder what name he got, in the end. Pretty sure it wasn't Florian. You know that's one of the ways they use to make sure that an unsuitable parent will never be able to find their child?" 

A pillar of ashes falls to the table, spreading like a thin sheet of grey. he watches impassively, then takes another drag on the cigarette.

"Wizarding World adoption works like that. The only way to find a child is by the name they were given at birth. They didn't let me name him before... before they took him away."

Silence. 

"Then again." he murmurs as he stubs out the cigarette and immediately lights another one, "I was. what. twenty-one. Dark mark on my arm, no steady partner. No family to back me up. Nothing. I guess he's better off."

He blows out another perfectly round smoke ring, as if he's had a lot of practice.

"I mean, who'd believe me anyway when I named the father? I was... a monster. A lying whore with a mark on my arm. As if someone as perfectly wonderful as him would... shows what they know, huh?"

he watches the smoke dissipate.

"We made him in Paris. Don't laugh. City of love, and all that bullshit. Well, I loved him. Loved like crazy. I like to think he did too. Nevermind that he wouldn't even look me in the eye after that summer. Ran back to his pretty wife and pretty kids. I never bothered to tell him, you know? Didn't see the point. He didn't want us. I don’t blame him."

Another long drag of the cigarette. This time, he lets the smoke out through his nose in a way that looks uncomfortable, but he does not seem to find it so.

"I remember screaming until my voice was gone. Begging to have my baby back. They told me to stop whining, that I didn't have a baby. But they were wrong. My body remembers, you know? Remembers every time he kicked my ribs. Every flutter of movement. Remembers everything."

He smiles, and there is a hint of joy in it, somewhere beneath all the sorrow.

"Most of all my arms remember how it felt to never get to hold him."

He puts out the cigarette in the overflowing ashtray. Within moments, he's lit another one.

"I don't think of him every now and then, you know? It's bullshit. I think of him all the time. Every one of my patients is Florian. Every young worried parent is me. And none of them are. I'm not a parent, you know? I'm not allowed to be."

He stares at the dully glowing tip of the cigarette.

"I like to think that, wherever he is, whatever his name is, that he has his father's eyes."

This time the smile is real, honest. It turns the handsome man on the other side of the table stunningly beautiful, for that brief moment.

"Green eyes." He murmurs as he lifts his cigarette to his lips and takes another slow, long drag.

"Harry's eyes" he whispers, forming another of those perfect smoke rings.

Hermione turns off the camera.


End file.
